Sometimes You Just Need
by Nephthys Snape
Summary: None under 18. Beach Head is fighting for his sanity as two new Joes make his blood boil and his tempter flare. Has he met his match? Can the PIT survive the altercations? What is the secret being hidden by one of them?
1. Jezebel

Beach Head paced in front of the greenshirts. Duke had told him to hold off on running them until he arrived. Beach Head was not at all happy about doing so. Duke was taking forever to show up. The greenshirts could have already done their stretches and be on the tower. Beach Head was beyond irate. His mood was only going to get worse.  
His internal ranting was interrupter as Duke and Falcon walked up to the group. The addition of the lady's man did not please Beach Head. He had no use for Falcon. "Bout damn time! What's so all fired important that I had to stall trainin'? And what's he doin' here?" He pointed to Falcon, not at all happy.  
Duke smirked. "Hawk wants them to go through a little extra training. New course is being built..."  
"Extra!" Beach Head did not like the implication that his training was not enough.  
Duke nodded and looked at his watch. "Be here any moment now."  
"What will be?"  
As if on cue, a jeep came into view, coming their way. They watched as Shipwreck drove up with a female passenger. Duke, like the gentleman he was, beat his brother to the door and offered a hand to the woman. She looked at his hand then his face then his hand again. She ignored the hand and stepped from the jeep of her own accord. Shipwreck laughed.  
"Can it, Barnacle Breath." She turned and glared at him. He just grinned back. "Damn salty dog," she muttered as she walked forward and looked at the greenshirts before turning to Duke.  
"Hey! Not my fault he mistaken you for a lady." He raised his hands in defense as she narrowed her eyes at him. She snorted finally and gave her attention to Duke. "Reportin' for duty." She did not salute or give him a sir.  
Duke hid a grin. Beach Head was in for it. He looked at the Ranger. "Beach Head, meet Jezebel."  
Beach eyed the five foot five woman before him. Her hair was deep chocolate and apparently long if the bun at the base of her skull meant anything. She wore camouflage fatigue pants, a black tank top, dog tags, and army boots. She looked like a miniature female Slaughter minus the hat. She even had the sun glasses, which she removed to eye him. Her hands were encase in quarter finger gloves as well. He assessed her then grunted in greeting.  
"A real charmer," she said, smiling. Her accent had a hillbilly twang that made his ears perk up.  
"Not paid to be charmin'. Now, if you are finished, I mean to get started," he said to Duke. He turned to the greenshirts. "Stand tall you yahoos! Straight line! We've been through this before! Wipe off that grin, Falcon, or you'll be joinin' 'em! I don't give a shit if that beret's gold and yer wearin' a star." He glared at the man.  
Jezebel watched Beach Head work, smirking. She like his style. He would do everything in his power to make the greenshirts fail in an attempt to make them better soldiers. She could respect him for that, but he would have to do a lot to get her total respect. Duke's hand on her shoulder cut into her observations. "He's a hardass, but he's good at his job."  
"So I see. That's alright. I'm a hardass, too. Think I'll observe for a while fore I decide how ta help." She whistled and a large dog jumped out of the back of the jeep.  
"Aw hell! Not another damn flea bag!" Beach Head complained.  
"Killer ain't just a flea bag," she defended. To emphasize that point, it seemed, Killer stood up and put his front paws on Beach Head's shoulders. Beach Head found himself eye to eye with the Irish Wolfhound/Great Dane mix. The damn thing was taller than him.  
"Get this mutt off me!" He yelled. He glared from the master to the dog and back again. She merely moved her hand, like she had to get him to stand though they had missed it, and Killer dropped back to the ground and moved to her side and sat. She patted his head, which was equal to her bossom. Beach Head growled deep in his throat. The day was going to be very long, as were the ones to follow. He could just feel it.  
  
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By lunch that first day, Beach Head was very surly. More so than normal. The new drill instructor had not said a word to him that day after he met her dog. He was not at all impressed with her. In fact, over the following two and a half weeks, his opinion never changed. She rarely spoke, and when she did they normally ended up fighting if it was a lengthy conversation. (More than one or two sentences.) The fights always dwindled into pointless debates over stupid little things. Frankly, most of the time they wanted to kill one another. The two and a half weeks passed quickly for those betting on when Jezebel and Beach Head were going to kill one another. The pot was getting mighty steep. Even Shipwreck and Flint were in higher graces, it seemed, than the fiery little woman. From the way she talked clear down to how she tied her boots, Beach Head bitched about it all. She did nothing right and her dog was a menace to all life. Beach Head loved nothing better than to give her hell.  
Jezebel, for her part, took it all in stride. Flint told her she held up under Beach Head better than most would. She just shrugged it off, doing her best to not let the 'dumbass, southern tight wad' to get in the way of her job. She was also biding her time. During biding her time, after about a week, something about Beach Head slowly started to change in her eyes. He was just as annoying as normal, but he was also intriguing, intimidating to the others... almost attractive.  
Little did anyone know that Jezebel would be a saint in his eyes after he met another new Joe... Reaper. 


	2. Reaper

Flint, Duke, and Hawk looked over the newest Joe. She stood tall. Her black hair was short and spiky, her bangs longer and straight. She stood before Hawk's desk at attention. She sized the two men she could see up, not being at all subtle about it. Her pale blue eyes raked over them.

Hawk, more so than Duke, eyed her as well. He wondered if she was really fit for the Joes. He had her complete military record before him. "I don't have to tell you what it means to be here, and what will happen if you screw up." He knew her reputation that was not on the paper, too. She was not good with orders or respecting officers, to say the least.

"No, Sir." She did not really look at him but above him.

"Good. All I'm going to say is do your best and don't disappoint me. You can go with Flint." He motioned to the man reclining against the wall behind her. "He will show you where you are to be stationed for now."

She nodded as Flint got off the wall and opened the door. She turned, Flint motioning her out. Silently, she exited the room. Flint followed. Hawk looked at Duke, who just shrugged.

Flint led the new Joe in silence most of the way. He looked over at her as they neared their destination. "Hope you had a good night of rest last night."

"It should be sufficient." She did not look toward him.

"Hope so. Before anything else, you have to pass Beach Head." She nodded, staying silent. Flint walked her over to where Beach Head stood chewing out some greenshirt. "Beach, here's the new Joe you get to run."

Beach Head turned toward Flint. He scowled as he eyed her over. She stared back, wrinkling her nose at his... aroma. He ignored it for the most part, just narrowing his eyes a little more. "Line up with everyone else," he barked as he turned back to the greenshirt. "You, too, Rawhide," he snapped.

Both did as he ordered. Unfortunately for her, she ended up beside Falcon, who was serving out punishment yet again. He looked her over with a leer, whistling softly. She ignored him. She had no interest in him or anyone else. She had a job to do and would do it. Beyond that, she had no want to interact with those around her.

"Okay, Rawhides. You're goin' up the tower today." Jezebel rolled her eyes at his declaration. She was lounging against a nearby jeep, bored.

Tower? The new Joe thought. She wondered what, exactly, the tower was. She had no idea how familiar she was to become with the tower.

"I want ya to hot foot it over there! Now!" Beach Head shouted. The greenshirts quickly took off for the tower. She followed with them, wondering what she was in for.

Beach Head and Jezebel followed behind them at a casual pace. Jezebel smirked at him. "Gonna have fun with that new one."

He eyed her. He hated when she got an 'I now something you don't' attitude. Smug was very annoying on her. "What do you know bout it?" He growled.

He gritted his teeth as her look became more smug. "Trained 'er myself. She's got the skills, if not the passion." He scowled but said nothing as they arrived at the tower.

The tower was an intricate course designed by Beach Head himself. He was very proud and protective of it. The course started one hundred yards from the structure. Ropes led up to a small platform. Monkey bars rose up to more ropes, these going straight across to a vertical wall. At the top of the wall were horizontal balance beams. The led to a vertical repel. At the bottom was a pool under electric charged wires. Next was another vertical wall, slicked with oil. Then came a net climb up to a pole climb. Once at the top of the pole, a cable lead to the ground. There came a crawl under barb wire and a run through tires. Lastly was another hundred yard run. The course was ran forward and backward, depending mostly on Beach Head's mood.

The greenshirts lined up at the start. The new Joe eyed the tower and groaned inwardly. Beach Head eyed everyone. "One at a time. I'm timin' ya. The new gal can go first."

Yay. She thought but took her place.

Beach Head pulled a stop watch from his pocket and looked her over. She had potential. "Ready, Rawhide?"

She nodded. Wonder if I'll get a prize at the end? She dryly mused to herself.

"Go!" He barked as he started the watch. She took off thinking solely about the reason she was there. Beach Head looked at the others. "I want the rest of ya yahoos watchin'!"

Everyone stood and watched, Jezebel with more than a hint of pride. Beach Head dared not look her way, expecting an 'I told ya so' any moment. She kept silent, letting him stew and worry. "Get yer ass back here!" He watched as the girl took her time in returning.

Beach Head looked at the greenshirts and Falcon. "Get goin', Falcon." He spat the name. His strong dislike of the other man was no secret, that being the reason Beach Head always got to give out discipline on Falcon's greater... offenses. All those that did not require the Slaughter House, that is.

Falcon and the greenshirts had finished when Beach Head addressed something that was annoying him. When he wanted something done, he wanted it done with no excuses or exceptions. "Think you don't need to pay attention?" He moved in on Reaper, eyeing her. A mutual dislike blossomed.

"No, Sir," she replied simply.

"'No, Sir, I don't need to pay attention' or 'No, Sir, I do'?" He growled. She was just what he did not need, another irritating woman.

"No, Sir, I do." She gave him the answer her wanted, not necessarily how she felt.

"Then ya better open yer damn eyes, girl, and watch! Ya want to do what you came here to do, ya damn well better watch. Do ya understand me?" He scowled at her.

"Yes, Sir." Her answer was automatic. Her opinion of Beach Head rivaling that of dirt.

"Good." He looked around at all of them. "I want ya yahoos to drop and give me fifty. Then, we," meaning them, of course, "are goin' to do the tower again." He smirked under his mask.

Fucking ass... Reaper thought as she dropped and did her fifty. Once done, she stood, readying to go through the torture again.

"Y'all gonna go at once this time, but don't help each other." Beach Head reset his watch. "Get goin'!" He hit the start button.

"They all took off. Reaper, though not the first done, did better than her first go by a few seconds. As a whole, Beach Head was far from impressed with any of them. He scowled as they all go back to the start. "Not good enough, Rawhides! Line up! Yer doin' it again!" He ignored Jezebel's shake of her head and smirk. He did not care if he was predictable when it came to PT. "Go!"

Everyone took off yet again. Reaper preformed about as she had the previous time. Still, Beach Head was not happy. He scowled at them then his beeping wrist watch. "I want yer asses back here at 1300 hours. Get out of my sight!" He dismissed them for lunch.


	3. Killer and the Tower

Leaving the surly Beach Head behind, Reaper and the others made for the mess hall. Jezebel followed silently, Killer at her side. Once there, Reaper separated from the rest, getting her food and sitting alone. She was there for the job, not to socialize. Jezebel, though tempted to join her, sat with Cover Girl and Lady Jaye. She knew Reaper well enough to read that the other woman was not in the mood for company. Not that she could ever really remember her being in the mood. Both women ignored Beach Head's entrance, the Ranger taking a seat with Duke and Sgt. Slaughter.

Reaper reached down, after she had eaten a portion of her meal, and made a slight gesture with her hand. No one caught the motion but Killer, who was meant to see it. The large dog stood and moved to sit beside her. He gladly accepted the food she passed him and the petting she bestowed. Jezebel, having fallen into casual conversation, had not noticed until Reaper stood to get rid of her empty tray and return outside. As Reaper passed her, she made comment, "Don't go spoilin' that brute, Cassandra."

"Yes, Ma'am," Reaper answered, patting her leg for Killer to follow her outside. The dog did so without second thought. Both recognized that Jezebel did not mind, perhaps even encouraged, their companionship.

Jezebel shook her head, watching them leave. "Great. Lost my damn dog again." Her words were more to herself but easily heard by the other two women.

"Again?" Cover Girl asked, the statement curious.

"They bonded back when the kid was trainin' in boot camp." She shrugged. "Reckon he'll spend more time with 'er like he did before."

"That unusual?" The smirk Jezebel gave her made her worry a bit. The more she learned of the other woman, the more she wondered.

"Meanest, orneriest mutt ya ever been around. Sooner tear yer leg off than lick yer hand." She had trained him better than to behave in such a way, but others never knew that. And, he could kill. He was as much a soldier as the men and women on base.

Cover Girl nodded, wondering if it was safe to let Killer run around loose. She mused that Jezebel had to be exaggerating. The greenshirts were going to find out how much that exaggeration could feel real.

Come 1300, everyone was back at the tower. Almost everyone. One greenshit was missing and Beach Head was going into quite the fit over it. "One more damn time an' I'm stringin' the boy up by his balls!"

His ranting and threats made Reaper raise an eyebrow as a few of the others cringed and fidgeted. Jezebel found it all annoying. They could be doing what the were suppose to while Beach Head ranted. Reaper could not help but wonder what the hell she had gotten into. If the raise in pay was really worth it to listen to Beach Head bitch and moan. If she really got what she earned going through the endless running of the tower.

"Go look for him. I'll run 'em." Jezebel had listened to enough of Beach Head's ire. The man simply bitched too much. He glared at her then stalked off, throwing his stop watch over his shoulder. She easily caught it before turning to the greenshirts with a grin that Reaper did not like. Jezebel was up to something. "Alright, grunts, let's see what ya got when ya have inspiration." Her grin broadened and Reaper knew she did not like the feeling she was getting. She could only fathom what Jezebel had in mind.

Curious, one of the greenshirts could not stop himself from asking. "Inspiration, Ma'am?"

"Killer." The dog moved to her side and snarled low. He knew what was wanted, expected of him.

Reaper smirked, think to herself, Figures. Jezebel was original, creative, and probably crazy. She had Killer trained well.

"Get ready to climb that tower never before. An', seein' as ya can help each other, I want these times cut down, drastically, Rawhides!" Her voice carried over them loud and clear as she noticed for them to line up. Once they all had, she barked out one word. "Get!"

As soon as the word left her mouth, Killer growled and dove at the feet of the greenshirts, tearing pants when the person was not moving fast enough. He left no doubt in the young minds that he would do the same to skin, though he was trained just to instill fear. They took off like a shot for the tower. The small respite they got from being up on the tower ended once they hit the ground on the other side, and to not do so was to face the master of the beast. Killer, though only one dog, seemed quite capable of making himself a pain to all of them.

Beach Head, having found the missing greenshirt, had returned. He paid little attention to Killer and what Jezebel had the canine doing. He focused more on the perturbed look on the woman's face and the cause. Following her gaze, his eyes fell on Reaper. He took a moment to realize why Jezebel was upset.

Reaper was doing well on the tower. However, as the other greenshirts helped one another, she did not. She was falling behind many of them, though still doing better than she had before lunch. She neither offered nor accepted aide. Jezebel was hot about it, especially after telling them to help each other. Beach Head was quickly joining her in being upset. They both waited for them all to finish before either made a move toward her.

Jezebel was the first to say anything. "Line up! Stand tall! Feet apart! Get them shoulders straight! Heads high!" If there was an example to be made, she was going to get their attention as a whole, let them all sweat a moment. "Stand like the soldiers yer suppose ta be!" She barked as she walked through the ranks. Finally, she stopped in front of Reaper. "Don't think ya need help? Think ya can do this all on yer own?" Her voice bit as she yelled at Reaper. Where it had resonated with a simple need to be heard before as she yelled at them all, her voice took on a hard, fierce edge.

"Yes, Sir," Reaper responded more out of habit than anything. In boot camp, they had all called Jezebel sir, separating her from the rest of the instructors. She was harder, meaner, feistier than the others put together. In some way, it made her higher than the rest.

Beach Head had heard plenty of women officers called sir so ignored it and laid right into Reaper. "Ya don't know anything! May be an army of one, but this is a team, girl! Ya may think ya don't need them, but they may need you! I don't want my soldiers dyin' cause ya think your too good to help them out!"

Reaper said nothing, knowing they were not done. She stood tall, eyes ahead, and took what they offered. Jezebel was not long in growling out, "Run it again forwards an' back. No help." She looked to Beach Head then pointedly to his pocket where she knew a remote resided. The tower was old fashioned, but it had been tweaked with several modern advances. He reached into his pocket and got the remote, flipping switches. Sprinklers soaked the course and the ropes over the water started swinging almost violently. "Ready?" Jezebel asked Reaper, though her answer was irrelevant.

"Yes, Sir." Reaper moved to the starting position.

"Get!" Killer dove at her feet as Reaper ran through the growing mud for the tower. Time a bit slower and covered head to foot in mud, she completed the course. Her results were not satisfactory for Beach Head.

"Awful slow, girl! Perhaps you should try it again?" He eyed her and pushed a few more buttons on the remote. More of the obstacles started to move or become difficult in different manners.

Again she started, running it slower yet. Not only was she not use to the differences but she was beginning to fatigue. However, her mind was focused. She would do what was asked, demanded of her because to not would mean not doing all she could. She had to do her best, for Sophie if for no other reason.

"Gettin' slower, Rawhide!" Beach Head looked at the others. "All of ya line up. Doin' it again. Going to help the others, too."

"May I?" Jezebel suggested, standing with the greenshirts. His answer did not really bear on her decision, but she asked nonetheless. She smirked at his nod, taking her stance beside Reaper.

"Go!" Beach Head ordered, all of them taking off. Reaper going strong and fast as she can. Again, she ran by herself while Jezebel helped the others. All of them completed before Reaper. She returned to the start winded. Beach Head was far from impressed. "I want fifty and I want them now," he growled out. She dropped and gave them to him. He snorted as she finished. "Call it a day. Specialized trainin' tomorrow." He turned to leave. "I expect hundred percent from you tomorrow, girl."

"Yes, Sir." Her response was automatic, ingrained. Sir was hardly what she really wanted to call him or Jezebel.

Jezebel shook her head and looked at herself. "Hit the showers!" She barked at them before going to her quarters to do the same. Everyone else made for the shower. Reaper, who only did communal showering when she had to, waited until everyone was finished before quickly showering and changing. Once that was completed, she made her way to find Jezebel, who was, after all, her commanding officer. She was assigned to be her assistant. She located Jezebel in debate with Beach Head. The two were arguing over Killer. She stood back waiting on them to finish, not about to interrupt them. At least not yet.

"Just keep that mutt away from me." He glared at Killer as though the dog was a member of Cobra.

"An' how'm I suppose ta do that when we work together?" She glared at him. The man was obtuse as he was smelly and aggravating.

"I don't know and I really don't care. Just don't wanna be trippin' over his furry ass."

"Trippin'? He's three feet tall! How can ya miss him!"

Reaper figured she should step in or she would be waiting on them to stop arguing the rest of the day. She knocked on the closed door to Jezebel's office before Beach Head could answer Jezebel's last retort. The noise was met with a loud "What!" from both of them.

"Thought I would report in," Reaper answered Jezebel through the closed door. Her superior had not told her to enter, and she was not going to open the door until she had.

"Get in here!" Jezebel ordered while still glaring at Beach Head. She had yet to fork of the daily report he had come to collect. Truth of the matter was she did not have it for him.

"Ma'am," Reaper said standing at attention. Jezebel glanced at her before returning a glare to Beach Head.

"Just give me the report I came for so I can get back to MY work." He was growing sick of the fiery hillbilly woman.

"YOUR work has prevented me from writin' the damn thing!" She growled back.

"Fine, I want it on my desk before the end of your shift. Understood?" Some days he wanted to ring the neck of the person who first decided women should be allowed in the military. They were so damn difficult and bullheaded.

"Yes, Sir, Beach Head, Sir, whatever you say, Sir. I'm happy to oblige, Sir," she sneered at him. He growled and walked out the door, making sure to glare at Reaper as well. After all, she was a woman and had been a pain in the side earlier. He failed to close the door as he left. "Close the damn door!" Jezebel yelled after him, but she went ignored. She growled and sat down at her computer. "Damn fool man. Needs that mask shoved up his ass," she muttered. She then fully became aware of Reaper, who stood before her brow raised by the mask comment. "Did ya need somethin'?" She glared at the other woman.

Reaper ignored the glare, knowing that it was mostly for Beach Head. "Orders, Ma'am."

"Fine, ya want ta do somethin', ya can type this up for me." She threw her report at Reaper.

Deftly, Reaper caught the report. "Where, Ma'am?"

Jezebel stood and motioned to her own seat. "Here is fine by me." She watched as Reaper sat and finished the report quickly and easily. She looked it over once the print out was in her hands. "Well then, type today's while I take this to his highness." She rolled her eyes. "Damn man needs to smoke somethin' and lighten up." She muttered to herself as she left the office. Reaper went about doing as ordered.


	4. Southern Boy VS Hillbilly Girl

Jezebel made her way to Beach Head's office, knocking loudly on his door. Working on his own report, he called out to the person without looking up. "Enter."

"Here." She thrust the report at him, rudely. She felt to compelling need to be overly curious about it.

"That was fast." He looked it over. Something told him that the woman before him was not a computer savvy person, much like himself.

"I had my assistant type it. Ya should get one yerself." She gave him a smug look.

"The newbie right? Nice to see she can do something right." He continued to read, not all that interested in making conversation, especially with Jezebel.

Taking some offense, and also feeling a need to defend for some unknown reason, Jezebel replied, "She's good, ya just run 'er to death."

He snorted at that. "Needs to learn what orders are and that you're suppose to follow them." 'Much like you do.' He looked up at her.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Is it to yer likin', Beach Head, Sir?" She smirked at him, going back into annoying the hell out of him if for no other reason than she enjoyed it and she could. "I'd hate ta upset ya, Sir. Ya bein' oh so important an' all." She knew it would not take much to get a good rise out of him.

"Yes, now get out of my office before I have you for insubordination." He met her eyes, knowing her game. Two could play, and he would win.

"Insubordination? Why you arrogant ass! I'm bein' as insubordinate as that cologne yer wearin'!" She stepped on the salted wound of his odor problem like so many had before her. "That essence of skunk?" She asked, smirking smugly.

"That's enough." He stood face red. "Out before I have you court marshaled." Not that he could really do so for her comments, but it felt good to say, to threat.

"Try it, bub." She eyed him coolly. He did not have a leg to stand on.

"Fine. Drop and give me a hundred. And that's an order, Sergeant." Though her rank was equal to his, he was still her senior officer as well as a commander of G.I. Joe, something he would rub in if he had to.

She glared at him. "One hand or two? Girly style or no?" Girly style had no basis nor use in the military, but she felt the need to ask, to rib him, annoy him.

His answer was what she anticipated. "One handed and no whimpy girly shit."

Smirking, she dropped to the floor, doing as he ordered. She could not help but give out yet another jibe once she had completed the set. "Want me ta shine yer boots while I'm down here?"

"No, I want you to get the hell out of my office," he growled as he glared at her. He felt the need to grit his teeth and bound the hell out of something. Why did the woman have to be such a pain in the ass?

She stood. "I'll be back with today's report, Sir, Beach Head, Sir. I know ya'll want it, Sir, Beach Head, Sir." Her tone was mocking. She was going to make the man hate the term sir.

"Out!" He pointed to the door. He was, indeed, getting very sick of being called sir. "And have your assistant bring it. At least she knows when to shut up." Which surprised him, her being a woman.

Jezebel saluted him with her middle finger before turning and leaving. He watched her go, fuming. She was the most bullheaded, stubborn, insubordinate, teeth clinching pain in the ass he had ever met. At the moment, he would have rather had two Shipwrecks. Little did he know that two said people were out there, in the halls, talking and sharing notes and pointers. A shiver ran down his spine for no apparent reason. Little did he know...

Jezebel, after much discussion with Shipwreck, finally made it back to her office. She had learned many humorous facts about what had happened to Beach Head at the hands of those on base, especially Shipwreck himself. Her mood had been lightened and her devious nature fueled. She was not going to let up on pestering the hell out of the staff sergeant any time soon. "Get it done?" She asked Reaper of the report.

"Yes, Ma'am." She held the report out for her superior.

"Take it ta Beach Head. He doesn't want ta see me." She smirked. She was going to bide her time, for now.

"Yes, Ma'am." She stood and walked around the desk, heading out the door and down the hall. She did not wish to see the man again ever let alone so soon but she would do as ordered. Knocking cliply on his door, she waited for him to permit her entrance.

"Enter." He was again at his desk going over reports, hoping beyond hope that whoever entered was not Jezebel or any of his other annoyances. He did not look up as whomever entered and placed something on his desk. Looking at what was placed down, he knew who it was. Still without looking up, he handed her a folder. "Give this to yer mouthy sergeant."

"Yes, Sir." She turned and left, having been completely dismissed from his attention. She made her way back to Jezebel's office and handed over the folder. "He said to give you this."

Jezebel took the folder curiously and opened it, reading silently. Her jaw clenched tighter and tighter over time. "Why that arrogant... Psychoanalysis! I should shove this up his ass!" She growled loudly. Reaper stood before her silently, watching as she threw the folder down on the desk. "Only one crazy is that self-righteous pig!" Reaper raised an eyebrow. She had the feeling that things were starting to spiral out of hand for both Beach Head and Jezebel. "Stay here an' man the office." Jezebel glared at the folder, fuming, before looking up at Reaper. "I need ta see Psyche Out about this."

"Yes, Ma'am," she answered simply as she watched the other woman stand and storm from the office. She once more could only fathom what was going on inside the mind of Jezebel. She was not certain who she pitied more, if she pitied either Beach Head or Jezebel. The two did seem to deserve one another.


	5. Round Two Leads to Injury

After spending a small amount of time with Psyche Out, who was happy to oblige her after his last run in with Beach Head, Jezebel made her way to the Ranger's office. Once there, she banged on his door loudly.

"Enter." Beach Head was getting sick of interruptions and he did not need to guess who was likely at his door. Though she was later than he had expected. He waited, eyes on the report he was reading, trying his best to stay calm.

Jezebel entered silently. She quietly laid a folder on Beach Head's desk then crossed her arms. She waited. He looked up at her then back to the folder. Finally, he picked it up and looked at its contents. Inside were the papers he had wanted filled out on her, completely finished and signed. Psyche Out found her completely sane and competent. Any out bursts she had resulted from interactions with psychotic asshole sergeants that needed the plug removed from their ass.

Beach Head growled. He would get Psyche Out for his participation. He glared at Jezebel. "Very well, I think you have a job to do." He returned to his reports, ignoring her.

"I am doin' it, Sir. I am here ta help ya." _And to annoy the hell out of ya if I want._ She looked at him blankly, having to fight down the smirk her musings encouraged.

"It would help me if you removed yourself from my office." He did not look up. He was not being baited any more.

"Then I guess I can't help ya, cause Psyche Out said we are ta work on our differences. Duke agreed." Duke was a trump card. Psyche Out felt that Beach Head's complex to follow orders to the letter could be used against him. All she had to do was drop Duke's name, even if neither she nor Psyche Out had spoken with the man.

"It would help our differences if you removed yerself from my office," he said a little louder. When he heard no movement, he looked up to find her glaring at the top of his head. "Alright. I'll make it an order."

She continued to glare. Things were not going as well as she had hoped. Of course, she was not sure what she had really expected him to do. "Duke said for me ta stay here until we can tolerate one another. Ya tossin' me out is not toleratin'."

"Well then, shall we go speak to him?" Phrased as a question, it was obviously not. He stood and walked toward the door.

"Iffen that is what ya want. I am sure he wants ta take more time out of his busy schedule ta deal with this again taday. I'm sure he'll be right pleased ta see us. Won't say a word bout it t'all." She hoped they did not find Duke. She doubted he would like her using him as some ploy in trying to rile Beach Head.

"If it gets you out of my hair..." He just walked on.

She shrugged non-chalantly and followed him. "Think he's in with Hawk." She hoped he might refrain from going to the CO's office. Of course, he would not be Beach Head if he was stubborn and did so. "They were needin' ta talk about somethin' or other." Surely he would consider not interrupting them.

"As soon as we get this settled, they can go back to it." He was not being swayed. He smelled a rat.

"Yes, magin' they can. Course, ya can interrupt 'em while I stand outside an' wait. I ain't gettin' bitched at for interruptin' 'em." If he was going in there, she was staying outside and hightailing it before he had the chance to realize she was seeking purchase in his office just to annoy the hell out of him.

"Oh, no. Since we need to work this out, you're goin' in with me. That is an order, Sergeant." She was weaseling out of something. He had seen plenty of the yahoos on base do the same thing. She was reminding him of Shipwreck at the moment or Falcon. Two of his biggest pains. Of course, Jezebel was quickly replacing all of them at the top of the list.

"Yes, Sir, Beach Head, Sir, your highness, Sir," she drawled. He growled and knocked on the door.

Inside, Hawk frowned, having not expected any interruptions. He looked up from the report he was reading. "Enter." He was slightly surprised when Beach Head and Jezebel entered. She obviously wanted to be somewhere else, and Beach Head looked like he wanted to kill someone. He had heard all about their recent 'debates'. The whole PIT was starting to buzz with when they were going to kill one another. He suspected Shipwreck even had a betting pool going on it. "Yes?" He asked them.

Jezebel remained silent, face blank. "Sir, I needed to speak with Duke."

Hawk frowned a little more. Why would he come here if he wanted to talk to Duke? "He isn't here." He looked between the two wondering what the hell was going on. He surmised he likely did not want to know.

"Yes, Sir, you wouldn't know where I could find him?" He could plainly see Duke was not there and had likely not been recently.

"Is something wrong?" And why could he not find Duke?

"No, Sir, just needed to clear somethin' up." He did not elaborate further.

Hawk sighed internally. He was getting too old too fast thanks to these people. "He's in his office as far as I know."

"Thank you, Sir." Beach Head nodded, as did Jezebel. They both left the office, heading down the hall toward Duke's. "Meeting, huh?" He did not look at Jezebel.

She shrugged. "Plans change."

Beach Head did not respond as he stopped in front of Duke's door. He knocked... and knocked again. They received no answer. He looked over at Jezebel. "Looks like we'll have to take care of this later."

"If ya say so, Sir, but I can't disobey his order." She thanked whatever power that she still had a card to play, an ace up her sleeve. "I have ta work things out with you."

"We'll 'work' things out at a later time. I have things to do." He did not want to spend the rest of the day in her presence.

"Like I don't! Ya think I want ta hang around with a smelly asshole?" She growled loudly, drawing the attention of several Joes that were between destinations. One just happened to be Shipwreck, who felt this was a prime opportunity. He whistled and grinned, starting up a betting pool on the spot.

"Then I suggest you go do what needs to be done," he growled back, ignoring the others around them.

"I'm tryin' but ya just keep gettin' in my way!"

"Fine, you suggested I have an assistant, well yer it, sister. I have a desk full of reports for ya to type up." He smirked at her. He could tell she liked doing paperwork as well as Shipwreck liked PT.

"Alright. I'll type it if ya answer me one question." She smirked back.

"And that would be?" He could not fathom what she would ask that could make her smirk like that.

"Is that movie, 'Deliverance', really how things are like down there?" Coming from her, that question was a little absurd. After all, being from West Virginia, she had a worse reputation than any Alabama boy. He turned red and stalked off before he decked her. He heard that more than he liked, and on top of everything she had been putting him through, it was a final straw. "Guess that means I ain't typin' up them reports?" She called after him. He just kept walking. "Yeller belly!" The betting went up as soon as that left her lips, on how long before they killed each other to how long before Beach Head lasted before blowing. The wait for the latter was short.

Beach Head stopped in his tracks. "Alright, you wanna be a bitch, let's run ya like one. Yer gonna do the tower the rest of the day." He motioned for her to head there in front of him.

She rolled her eyes. Could he not be a little more original? "Really, ya aren't very original," she drawled as she walked passed him, almost sauntering. "By the way. If I'm the bitch, what does that make you?"

"The dog trainer." Which was ironic as much as he seemed to hate dogs.

"Ya ain't one of them funny fellers, are ya, that likes his bitch way too much?" She eyed him a little funny.

He looked her up and down. "Believe me, you aren't even close to bein' my type, honey. Now get movin'!" He pulled out all the stops, making the course as hard as possible.

"Mind if I get more comfy?" She unlaced her boots, pulling off her socks then her shirt and fatigues so she stood there in only a sports bra and biker shorts. "Alright. I'm ready ta go."

"Then go." He did not even time here, just making her run it again and again.

She took off fast, maybe faster than she should have as long as he planned to make her run. She ran better than she had with the greenshirts, not having to slow down to help anyone. Every time she started to get tired, she drove herself harder. She refused to slow down, her mind set on the task at hand. Any slowing down she did, which over time grew more and more, her mind ignored. She was doing the best her body would allow.

A majority of the Joes that were currently at the PIT, had gathered around the tower off and on. Reaper had also started watching, worried at how far Beach Head would drive Jezebel, and how far Jezebel would let him. Shipwreck kept close watch, money riding on the outcome. He was also enjoying the show. The sprinklers and Jezebel's sweat made her already skin tight outfit and her skin shine. Many other male Joes watched with appreciation as well.

Beach Head stood there watching. He was not interested in how she looked, only that she ran it over and over. He would run her until she gave in or killed herself, whichever came first. Around midnight, the decision was taken out of his hands.

Jezebel's body was giving out no matter how hard her mind wanted it to go on. Everyone could see the fatigue in her movements, on her face. Her body finally gave out, in one place it should not. Her mind still pushing herself to go on. As she made it to the top of the tower, yet again, her foot slipped on the wet wood. Her other foot caught and she pitched off the side. The fall was about fifteen feet, and her body landed hard in the sand below. She swore to herself mentally, uttering a simple "Ouch." as she tried to regain her feet. She was not going to quit until Beach Head got off his high horse and said it was enough.

Reaper ran to her side, as did a few of the others. "Ma'am, are you alright?" She attempted to help her up.

Jezebel brushed off Reaper's hands and any others that made to help her. "I'm finishin' this," she told them. Walking back to the tower to do just that. She knew she had broken ribs, could feel them rubbing and swelling. She had also dislocated her little finger on her right hand. Beach Head watched, letting her go back at it if that's what she wanted.

After scaling back up the tower and picking up where she left off, Jezebel reached the end a lot slower than she had before. Once there, she walked back toward Beach Head, intent on continuing. Reaper went to Beach Head before she made it back. He had to stop Jezebel before she killed herself. "Sir, it's been hours." All she got was him eyeing her, not saying a word.

Jezebel made it to them, popping her finger back into place and bitching about it like it was no big deal but still a nuisance. "Damn. One of the few I've never broken or hurt before."

At that point, Lifeline had seen enough. He had tried several times already to talk Beach Head into stopping the whole mess, and her falling gave him grounds to supercede Beach Head's authority. "She can't continue," he informed Beach Head with a piercing glare.

Beach Head looked Jezebel up and down. "I suppose not. Get her patched up. I want her able to run it again tomorrow." He walked away without a second glance.

Jezebel hit her knees, her mind finally registering that her body was allowed to stop. The jarring of doing so made her start to cough, blood slipping passed her lips. "See ya then, skunky," she drawled to his back. Reaper moved to her side again, trying to give her help. And, once again, Jezebel brushed her away. "I got it, kid. I ain't dyin'."

Reaper sighed. Stupid bunch of crazy people. "Fine." Cassie walked away not going to repeat the mistake of trying to help her. If Jezebel was dumb enough to let herself be put through that, then so be it. She had stayed over longer than she liked to make sure Jezebel was not killed. Obviously, she had wasted her time.

Lifeline scowled at Jezebel. In ways, this was as much her fault as Beach Head's. "You aren't doing anything tomorrow except staying in bed." He took her arm.

"Let go. I can walk on my own." She did not fight him, though, her body not listening to her mind any longer.

"You cannot. I'll help you if you like it or not." He continued to scowl. He hated when any of the Joes put themselves through such hell, let themselves be hurt out of pride or for any other reason.

"Well I don't like it," she informed him. He ignored her comment, leading her to the infirmary. He hoped that her lungs were not punctured. Hawk was going to go through the roof.

Meanwhile, Flint had followed Beach Head to give the Ranger a piece of his mind about the whole thing. He, like Lifeline, had tried to shut down the whole episode. Unlike Lifeline, however, he outranked Beach Head and Jezebel, and both had ignored his orders to cease their actions. "Beach Head, stop," he ordered as he caught up to him

"Yes, Sir?" The sir was dry and sarcastic, much like the way Jezebel addressed him. He had no real love lost on Flint, that was no secret.

"What the hell was that?" Flint demanded. He wanted an explanation for why two sergeants, one of which was a commander of the Joes, would behave in such a manner. He had seen people get under Beach Head's skin, but never like this.

"I believe it's called discipline," he answered as though Flint were an idiot.

"Discipline! Are you insane? You could have killed her!" He was livid. Jezebel had been brought in because women were few in G.I. Joe, and because her drill skills were as good as Beach Head's, Slaughter's, and Leatherneck's. They had hoped to, after time, have her training the women, since Beach Head had such a problem with women in the military.

"I am not, and she's fine." He did not want to talk about it. He had to be up early and needed to get a shower and some rest.

"Fine? She'll be in a bed for at least a week!" The man was insane, no matter what he said.

"Then she has no business bein' here," Beach Head answered simply.

And there it was. She was a woman. Surely Beach Head had not put her through all that just to show that a woman was not cut out for the job! Flint felt there was more to it, but he could not figure it out, yet. "Is that so? She ran that tower better than a lot of the guys do, maybe better than you!" She had not. Beach Head had designed the tower and knew it well enough to get through it faster and easier than anyone. The Marines also did very well on it, better than she had to a degree.

"I have things to see to." He started walking away. He was finished with their 'talk'.

"Duke finds out about this..." He called after him. Lucky for Beach Head, Duke had been off base since early that day. And, out of wanting to win the betting pool, no one had gone to find Hawk, either. Shit was likely to hit the fan when all was said and done.

"Yeah, yeah," Beach Head answered, not turning around. At the moment, he did not care who found out about what.


	6. Without Direction

The next morning, despite doctor's orders and the close watch of Lifeline and Doc, Jezebel was trying to make it out of the infirmary and to her office. After all, she was not going to let some simple broken ribs stop her from her duties. She could not stand being stuck in bed when she could not get up and walk, let alone when all that was wrong was some busted ribs and a dislocated pinky. The brace on her hand was driving her nearly as crazy as being stuck in the infirmary was. She had to find something to do to get her mind off things.

Before she could escape, however, Reaper arrived with Killer. She was tempted to have the dog go take a large chunk out of Beach Head, but shoved the thought to the side. Duke was the one she really wanted bit, anyhow. He had been in the infirmary bright and early to ream her about the night before and her in ability to get along with others, namely Beach Head. She had let him rant and rave, reveling in the fact he was bitched at by Lifeline for upsetting his patient. After he had cooled down from that, she had spoke to him about Reaper and getting her away from Beach Head. Duke had agreed. Having Beach Head at war with one woman was enough. He did not need more of them drug into the fray.

She gave Reaper a small smile as she walked in. "Talked ta Duke this mornin' an' ya ain't gotta go through Beach Head's trainin'. Ya can see ta Killer for me an' report ta Flint. I think he wants ya workin' with Quick Kick taday in hand to hand trainin'."

Like Duke, Flint had also stopped by the infirmary to 'talk' to her about the night before. Unlike Duke, he was not loud and outwardly angry about it, keeping his cool and talking to her straight. He had expressed a concern that things would grow worse between Beach Head and she, and he wanted to nip it in the ass before that happened. She told him she would do her best, but Beach Head just seemed to have some magical way of making her forget her sense. He had chuckled at that, telling her that maybe she did not dislike Beach Head and her problem was quite the opposite. He had then left, leaving her to wonder what the hell he was going on about.

Reaper nodded to Jezebel. With a slight movement of her hand, Killer understood to follow her. The two made their way out of the infirmary and down the hall toward Flint's office. Along the way, the resident Casanova spotted her and moved in for the kill. "Hey, honey, where you off to?"

She had seen Falcon around, and had heard enough about him to know what he was up to. "Training," she answered simply, continuing down the hall.

"With Beach Head?" He knew she had been training under the Ranger. "You should skip out. It's a bunch of nonsense." He was laying on the charm.

"No, I need to report to WO Flint then to Quick Kick." She ignored the charm, having better things to do with her time than put up with it.

"You should really skip out and go out to catch a movie with me," he got straight to the point of his talking to her. She was hot and he wanted to get to know her better. Course, soon as Jinx found out, he was dead.

"I'm not payed to skip out and put up with you." She tried to get away from him, but it was not working.

"Isn't you that will be 'putting up' if you know what I mean." He smiled at her almost lecherously.

She looked at him, no emotion on her face. "K," she stated to Killer. He growled and bared his teeth.

Falcon back away, hands up in front of him. "Alright! No need to get all uptight about it!" He turned and removed himself from the vicinity.

She patted Killer's head. "K, good boy." Killer wagged his tail slightly, happy to have pleased her. The few Joes that saw it, shook their heads. She then moved on to Flint's door, knocking once there.

"Yeah," he called out from inside.

Without opening the door, she answered, "I was told to report to you."

He sighed and got up from his desk, going to the door and opening it. "Yeah means come in." He looked at her. "Report to Quick Kick. He needs your help."

She nodded. "Yes, Sir." She turned to leave, going to find Quick Kick. She found him talking to some Joes about new moves he was teaching them. "Sir, I was ordered to report to you."

Quick Kick looked up at that. "Sir?" He looked around himself. "Me?" She nodded to him. "You must be Reaper."

"Yes, Sir," she answered.

"Don't call me that, please. Only people around there that get called sir... Well, hell, only Hawk gets called sir when any of us do."

"It is procedure, Sir."

"This isn't regular army, Reaper." He shook his head. She was not going to listen to him. "Need you to help me teach these bums." He motioned to the Joes gathered around.

"Yes, Sir," she answered as the others responded to the jibe. She raised an eyebrow as she listened to them.

"Who you calling bums?" Alpine asked.

"Yeah, we know enough not to get our tales kicked," Airtight added.

"Do a might good job of it," Mainframe agreed.

"You don't. All you do is sit behind them damn machines," Alpine retorted.

"Hey! My machines have saved the day more than once," Mainframe defended himself and his work.

"I don't see why the pilots need to do this," Wild Bill complained. He could hold his own. He did not need this special martial arts crap.

"Yeah," Ace agreed from his side.

"Sir, shall we begin?" Reaper asked Quick Kick. The talking was annoying her. They were there for a reason, which was not talking.

"Stop bellyaching. Duke said you have to so you have to," Quick Kick told the others as she asked her question. He looked at her and nodded. He motioned for the other's to line up. Besides the ones moaning about the class, Stalker, Mutt, and Cover Girl rounded out the class. Needless to say, there were plenty more complaints throughout the class, most from Alpine and Ace.

When they were finished, more than a few of the guys walking away a little sore. Reaper did not pull punches. Quick Kick smiled at her. "Good job. You're good. Snakes might be able to use you."

"Should I report to him, Sir?"

"Nah. I'd go see what Jezebel has for you to do."

"I believe she's in the infirmary for the day, Sir. I was told to report to you."

He rolled his eyes. The sir thing was getting old. "Then go to Flint or Beach Head. I don't have anything for you to do." She nodded in response and left him alone, going to find Beach Head, Killer right behind her.

"Sir, it was suggested I report to you." She could think of no one she less wanted to be around, except maybe Falcon.

Beach Head eyed her sourly. He was not in the mood for anyone after his 'talk' with Duke. "Why? I ain't got any use for you right now."

"Yes, Sir." She turned and left, happy she would not have to answer to him for the rest of the day. She made her way back to the infirmary and Jezebel. Flint had made it pretty obvious earlier he had nothing for her to do either as fast as he had sent her off to Quick Kick. "Sergeant, it was suggested I report back to you for another assignment," she told Jezebel once she had returned to the infirmary.

Jezebel eyed her. "Can't ya just relax?" The girl was wound way too tight.

"Not payed to relax, Ma'am."

"Consider it free time ta do what ya want on base. Mingle. Make friends." She knew that would never happen but she had to suggest it.

"There is nothing I would want to do here. I'll be outside with K if you need me."

Jezebel sighed. "Alright." She wiggled to get comfy as she watched Reaper leave. She wished the kid would open up to people, not be so distant. Whatever she was hiding had to be something.


	7. Apologies and Rude Meetings

Beach Head made his way to the infirmary. Duke had instructed him that he had to apologize to Jezebel. He was not going to stand by and watch them bait each other any longer. Their little pissing contest, as Duke had called it, was disrupting things far too much. He needed them to work together, warning Beach Head that next time he was going to let Hawk be the one to handle it. Apparently, the general was very upset about the whole thing.

Lifeline, seeing Beach Head enter the infirmary, was instantly on alert and moving in. "No getting her riled up . She needs to rest so her lung doesn't get inflamed and her ribs can heal."

"Yeah, yeah." He pushed passed Lifeline, who glared at him but said no more. He removed his mask and sat down by Jezebel, who was currently sleeping lightly. He watched her, not wanting to wake her, knowing that it would be his ass if he did.

After about ten minutes, she realized she was being watched and blinked her eyes open from her slumber. "What ya want?" Her words were slightly slurred.

"To apparently tell you I was an ass and that I am sorry." He neither sounded nor looked like that was true.

She snorted. "Know that already."

"Good, then things are settled. I'm not suppose to upset you so I think I'd better be going." He moved to get up.

"Wait." She tried to sit up but hissed and fell back down. "Dammit." Her hand moved to her ribs.

Instinctively, he moved closer to her side. "Don't move. Now, what did you want?" He put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving.

"Ya ain't the only one needs ta apologize. I was a bitch, period. I just like ta rile yer feathers." She panted slightly, the pain from that movement a bit more than she had expected. She filed that information away so she would remember when she moved again.

"Apology accepted. Now get some rest." He looked down at her. His expression was softer than she had ever seen it, not that she had ever really seen him without his mask that much.

She nodded. "Gotcha. Need ta be able ta take that damn tower again." She gave him somewhat of a smile.

"Not for a while." He gave her a slight lift of the corners of his mouth. The smile soon left his lips.

She started to cough, dried flakes of blood landing in the hand she covered her mouth with. "Damn." She reached for a tissue to wipe her mouth with.

"Lifeline, get over here!" Beach Head called to him.

The medic came over to them. "What?"

"She's coughing up blood." He had not known she had been hurt that seriously.

"She has been since she fell." He takes the tissue from Jezebel with she was done with it. "Least it's dried up now." He put a hand to her head. "Slight temperature." She groaned at that news.

"Then she'll be alright?" He looked concerned.

"Fine as long as it doesn't get infected." He glared at Beach Head. How dare he be concerned now! "If it wasn't against my sensibilities, I'd kill you for this." He turned and left to get Jezebel some medicine.

Jezebel chuckled. "Doesn't understand what it is ta be a soldier, does he?"

Beach Head rolled his eyes. "No, he doesn't."

She nodded. "Oh well. Kinda like him the way he is, even if he is annoyin' as hell." She coughed again.

"He's more annoying than that even." He gave her a slight smirk. To just talk to her was not so bad, at least so far.

After yet another bout of coughing, she declared, "Dammit. I'm givin' that tower a nice solid kick when they let me outta here." She then snorted. "Probably break my damn foot."

"Don't go injurin my tower."

She smiled at him. "Nah. Couldn't have that now. Need ya ta scare the dickens outta recruits."

He grinned at her. "I like the way you think."

"Cause I'm depraved and mean?" Her eyes danced as she asked.

"Yep." His grin widened. "Well, I have to give some recruits hell." He stood. She nodded, starting into another coughing fit. He shook his head and left to find someone to torture.

Scarlet, Lady Jaye, and Cover Girl were walking through the mess hall at lunch, looking for a place to sit, when they spotted Reaper sitting alone at a table. The walked over to her, wanting to get to know her. "Do you mind if we sit down?" Scarlet asked her.

She looked up at them. "No, by all means the table's all yours." She stood and walked away, discarding her tray before heading back outside. She had no desire to get to know them.

"What's her problem?" Cover Girl mused, a bit upset at her attitude toward them.

"I don't know," Scarlet answered. She ate quickly. "I'll find out, though." She stood and returned her own tray. She then headed outside to find Reaper, doing so in a field on the other side of the training fields. Finding her, however, took some time. "Are you usually so rude?" She asked once she had.

Reaper looked up at the voice. "I've been told I am."

"Is there a reason?"

"Just being me," she answered simply, looking away from Scarlet. She was not going to invite conversation.

"We just wanted to introduce ourselves as we will be working together. I'm Scarlet." She did not offer her hand, knowing it would not be taken.

"Good for you." She petted Killer, doing her best to ignore Scarlet so she would take a hint and go away.

"Listen, Corporal. I'm not one to pull rank but if you want me to, I can."

"Listen." She looked up at her again, looking her up and down. "Lady, there's a reason I'm still a corporal, so you can pull all the rank you want."

Scarlet eyed her. "You'll never make it here if you can't work with others."

"Now, see, that's the reason I'm here. To do my job. Nothing more. I don't eat, breathe, and live this shit like the rest of you do. I have more important things to do with my time. This is just a job for me."

Scarlet shook her head. "If you don't care about others, you have no reason to be here." She turned and walked away. Reaper let her, happy with the peace and quiet once she was gone.


End file.
